Running Mate Page 13

  As we stepped onto the platform, Barrett took my hand in his. A cheer went up at the sight of us, and we smiled and posed for the press who stood below us. Thankfully, just as my face felt completely frozen in place, Bernie motioned for us to come down the stairs.

  When I started to take my hand away, Barrett squeezed it tighter. Speaking through his smile, he said, "Let me help you down the stairs."

  "I can make it on my own just fine," I replied back through gritted teeth. With my free hand, I kept waving to the crowd.

  "It'll look better for the photographers." He turned to me. “Besides, after what happened earlier, I don’t want you face-planting.”

  "That wasn’t my fault,” I protested.

  “Just let me help you.”

  “Not happening,” I muttered. Honestly, I didn’t know why I was being so stubborn. I mean, did it really matter if Barrett helped me down the stairs? No, but something within my feminist self was repulsed by the thought.

  A low growl came from deep within Barrett’s throat, which reminded me of the Beast in Beauty and the Beast. "Why do you have to be such a shrew?"

  "Why do you have to be such a misogynistic douchebag?"

  To those below us, we looked like a happy couple taking in all the supporters and perhaps commenting on the crowd. Our faces stayed frozen in enthusiastic expressions as if we had just had Botox. Of course, if anyone in the crowd was a lip reader, we were screwed.

  When I moved toward the first step, Barrett still hadn’t released my hand. "Let go," I hissed.

  "Fine."

  What happened next was simply a matter of physics. The energy I was putting into tugging against Barrett sent me propelling forward once he removed his hand, and that forward momentum sent me rolling down the platform’s three stairs and into a tangled heap at the bottom.

  A gasp of horror rang throughout the gaggle of reporters in front of me. I wasn’t sure if their reaction was because I’d just face-planted in front of them, or if it was more about the fact that my skirt—the one with the fun and flirty hemline—had flown up around my waist. I was having a distinct feeling of déjà vu—or I guess in this case, it would be déjà moon.

  Even though I’d lost a great portion of the skin on my knees and searing pain radiated from them, I fumbled to jerk my skirt down before scrambling to stand. Every molecule in my body hummed with the same mortification as the classic naked-in-public dream.

  Barrett’s hands came around my waist and he lifted me upright. "Just out of curiosity, where the hell is your underwear?" he hissed in my ear.

  "Everett told me not to wear any so it wouldn't show panty lines through the suit," I snapped. Turning my back to the crowd, I pretended to be examining the damage to my bummed-up knees. “It’s not like I don’t have on pantyhose.”

  “It sure as hell didn’t look like it.”

  “The color is called nude. You should google it.”

  “Yeah, well, that might be true, but you still pretty much mooned the reporters.”

  Jerking my head up, I scowled at him. “Yes, I’m aware of that. What about the crowd?”

  “No. Thankfully, they were blocked by the press corps.”

  “Thank God for small mercies,” I grumbled.

  “You forget those reporters have cameras.”

  Great. Kill me now. At that moment, I had two choices: I could sprint into the building and collapse into hysterics over my giant faux pas, or I could put on my big girl panties—in today’s case, panties period—and do the job I’d been sent to do. From that day on, I would have WWJD moments—What Would Jackie Do. While I’m pretty sure Jackie Kennedy never mooned the press corps, she did put on a happy face and soldier on for the sake of JFK’s campaign and later presidency.

  Drawing my shoulders back, I plastered a smile on my face. Without another word to Barrett, I headed over to work the rope line of people. “Hello. Thank you so much for coming out,” I said through a toothy grin.

  When I reached out my hand, an elderly lady took it. “Are you okay, honey? That was quite a tumble you took.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you so much for asking. Nothing too bruised but my pride,” I responded good-naturedly.

  I moved on to shake several other people’s hands. “What happened?” another woman asked.

  What I did next was not something I’m very proud of, but in the moment, it seemed necessary. “I was too nervous about my first campaign event to eat, and I tend to get lightheaded. It was a little bit of hypoglycemia that cause me to tumble.”

  The woman’s expression melted into pity. “Bless your heart. I hope you’re feeling better.”

  “I am. Thank you.” As I continued greeting people, the pain of both my physical and emotional injuries dissipated, and I began to enjoy myself. The exuberance of the crowd bolstered my mood and I could have kept on talking to people for hours, but soon I felt Ty’s hand at the small of my back. “It’s time to take your seats for the speech,” he whispered into my ear.

  I nodded as I waved goodbye to those I hadn’t been able to reach yet. Ty ushered us down a long aisle of chairs to our seats and after a small band struck up a merry tune, James and Jane climbed the stairs of the platform. The music came to an end when James took a place at the flag-draped podium. “My fellow Americans and Ohioans, what an honor and privilege it is to be speaking before you today!”

  The crowd immediately erupted into wild applause and cheering. James grinned at the response then began speaking about the problems the country currently faced and how he would remedy them if he was elected president. The speech itself probably lasted around ten minutes. When he finished, he turned to Jane, who rose from her seat to join him at the podium so they could smile and wave before leaving the platform. After they started down the aisle, Barrett and I followed behind them. We smiled, waved, and shook a few hands on our way back to the train.

  The moment I picked my leg up to board the steps, agonizing pain shot through my knee and I yelped. Before I could lift my other leg, Barrett’s strong arm came around my waist. “I’m helping you.” His eyes bored into mine. “It’s not up for negotiating, got it?”

  I hurt too bad to argue so I just leaned on him, and a chorus of awwws rumbled through the onlookers at the sight of heroic Barrett helping his battered fiancée. I fought the urge to roll my eyes; if they only knew he was just doing it for the cameras, they would think differently of him.

  While James took some questions from the press, Barrett and I were ushered into the private family car where Everett and Saundra awaited us. Their eyes widened at the sight of my bloodied knees. “Sorry about the pantyhose,” I sheepishly said to Everett.

  He waved a hand at me. “Oh honey, forget the pantyhose. I have five pairs on reserve. I’m more concerned with you being hurt.”

  Barrett snorted. “Maybe you should be more concerned with the fact that your no-panties rule led to Addison mooning the press corps.”

  Everett rolled his eyes. “Honestly, Barrett, she was wearing pantyhose—do you not hear the word panty in that? It’s not like I had her in a garter belt.”

  Barrett’s eyes flared, and I realized he must be a lingerie man. After shaking his head, Barrett said, “Regardless, if she’d had on panties, it would have lessened the damage of the photographs.”

  In that moment, I saw red before my eyes. “Is that all you care about? How my ass is going to look bad for your father’s campaign?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s sure as hell what it sounded like.”

  “For your information, I was alluding to the fact that if Everett hadn’t told you not to wear panties, your ass would have been covered.”

  “Only if I wore granny panties and not my usual thongs,” I countered without thinking.

  Barrett opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it. A curious look came over his face. “You wear thongs?”

  “Yes, although that is none of your business.”

  “
Good to know,” he teasingly replied. At my death glare, he added, “Look, I really wasn’t blaming you for what happened.” He jerked his thumb at Everett. “It’s all his fault.”

  “Don’t blame me, blame fashion,” Everett replied.

  “Whatever. Let’s just get ready for the next stop.”

  Although I assured her I could do it myself, Saundra insisted on cleaning and bandaging my knees. Thankfully, they didn’t show through my pantyhose when I was standing, though things got a little more dicey when I was seated.

  We spent the rest of the day keeping up a manic pace, which kept my mind off my ass. On our third stop, we had a sit-down lunch before James gave his speech. I didn’t know how he managed to keep his voice throughout the day—I guess the cough drops Jane carried helped, along with his request of tea with honey and lemon.

  I was thoroughly and completely exhausted by the time we trudged up the train stairs for the last time. When I entered the first car, all the advisors and minions were crowded around a couple laptops. At the sight of me, panic broke out as they scrambled to close the screens.

  They weren’t quick enough, though, and I got an eyeful of one of the headlines.

  Assgate: How the future first daughter-in-law bared all to reporters at campaign stop.

  I screeched in horror, which caused Pete, one of the aides assigned to Barrett and me, to come over. “Don’t worry, Addison. Most legitimate newspapers are not being so crass about what happened.”

  “Wait, does that mean they’re still covering it?”

  Pete swallowed hard, sending his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “Unfortunately, there have been a few mentions, a few photographs, and…some video.”

  “Oh. My. God.” If there was ever a time in my entire life when I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole, it was this very moment. Even more than that, I wished for time travel so I could go back to earlier in the day and let Barrett help me down the stairs instead of fighting him.

  Deep down, I didn’t know why I was surprised. We lived in a world where a photo could go viral within seconds. Did I honestly think the reporters weren’t going to publish the pictures of my ass? Could I not fathom being YouTube infamous in a compilation video of people falling on their ass?

  “What’s the matter?” Barrett asked from behind me.

  “It appears the press has taken a comical approach to what happened earlier,” Pete replied.

  “Thankfully, they’re not ridiculing Addison’s character,” another staffer, Martin, chimed in.

  “They’re just making fun of me and my ass,” I argued as I fought the urge to throw up.

  Jane’s arms came around me. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry. It’s one thing for you to fall and hurt yourself on your first day, but now the media has to take a shot at you emotionally.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered weakly.

  “Listen, why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll go get you a drink from the bar car?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  Jane cupped my chin. “I’m sure you could use something stiff.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Trust me, I know.”

  After she steered me to a seat, she headed out of the car. The others scattered back to their laptops, discussing the other headlines that didn’t involve my ass. Overwhelmed by my emotions, I knew I needed to be alone. Without a word to anyone, I rose out of my seat and made my way down the aisle. Air whooshed around me as I stepped outside the train car.

  Once the door had shut safely behind me, I finally allowed the hot tears of embarrassment to flow freely. Although I could have been selfish and only mourned for me, I also mourned for the shame I’d brought to James’s campaign. This was the last thing he needed. He’d killed himself today giving speech after speech, yet all the media was focusing on was my ass.

  Through my sobs, I heard the door open. Whirling around, I swiped my tear-stained cheeks. I had expected Jane or perhaps Saundra to check on me, but instead, Barrett stood before me, concern etched across his handsome face.

  After staring him down for a moment, I asked, “Did your dad or Bernie send you out here?”

  “No, they’re in a strategy session at the moment, and before you can worry even more, it doesn’t involve your ass.”

  “Thank God for small mercies.” Groaning, I buried my head in my hands. “This has to be the worst day of my life.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Fine, but it does rate up there with the day I caught Walt banging his intern.”

  “Come on, it’s not as bad as that.” When I didn’t respond, Barrett said, “Look on the bright side: at least there isn’t an article that says something insulting like ‘Full Moon Rising’.”

  I rolled my eyes. “That so doesn’t make me feel any better.”

  “What about this?” He fiddled with something on his phone before shoving it in my face. “Buzzfeed is rating your ass with an overall nine out of ten stars.”

  Staring at the screen, I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t even have a response for that.”

  “The one thing that could be worse than mooning the world would be for everyone to be repulsed by your ass. That’s not the case. You’re getting mad ass love.”

  I couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity of it all, and Barrett grinned. “Man, I’m glad to hear you do that. For a minute there, I thought I was going to have to hold you back from jumping off the train.”

  “It’s still a temping thought.”

  “Trust me, tomorrow there will be a bigger story than your ass.”

  “No offense, but that isn’t exactly comforting coming from the guy who is still known for his nude pics from multiple years ago.”

  “Hey, something that impressive is unforgettable.”

  I laughed once again. “You would think about it that way.”

  “In the end, we make quite the couple, don’t we? The ass and the dick.”

  “Yes. We do,” I replied with a smile.

  “Come on, let’s go back inside.” He flashed me a wicked grin. “I want to see if any of the advisors are secretly checking out your ass on their laptop.”

  I didn’t feel ready to face anyone, especially with tears still fresh on my cheeks, but Barrett was right. There was nothing I could do, so might as well keep moving forward—both me and my ass.

  I smacked him playfully on the arm before letting him lead me back inside.

  BARRETT

  Just as I had foretold, Assgate dropped from the top of the news stories after a few days. Thankfully, it didn’t even cause a blip in Dad’s polling numbers. Instead, momentum grew. When voters went to the booths on Super Tuesday, they were all about James Callahan. Dad swept each and every primary.

  Bolstered by the overwhelming victories, we stayed busy on the campaign trail. With just a week until primaries in Kansas, Louisiana, and Nebraska, the Niña, Pinta, and Santa María kept the roads hot while crisscrossing around the states. I didn’t know how Dad still had a voice left after delivering so many speeches, but he managed to bring the same conviction and power to each and every one of them—regardless of the size of the venue or the crowd.

  Whenever Addison and I made an appearance, the press came out in droves to cover it. I didn’t think anyone in the campaign could have anticipated just how popular our engagement would actually be. To reiterate Caroline’s assessment, people “shipped us”—whatever the hell that meant.

  At the end of the day, it was really more Addison they were enthralled with. After all, she was the working girl who had won the heart of an eligible billionaire bachelor. She embodied the fairytale of beauty taming the beast, and damn if the girl didn’t know how to turn on the charm. She effortlessly transitioned from talking with farmers in the heartland to chatting up seasoned politicians. Some of the aides had jokingly started calling Addison “Kate”, referring to Prince William’s wife, Catherine Middleton. Others remarked that Addison had the same effect as Princess
Diana when she had breathed life into the stuffy House of Windsor, except in this case, she was breathing life into the sometimes boring world of political campaigning.

  Of course, anything would be an improvement over Dad’s closest rival, Cliff Waterston. The man could have easily played Winston Churchill in a movie, and his two sons had the same bulldog features. Since America was obsessed with superficial youth and beauty, they were falling for us hook, line, and sinker.

  The more time I spent with Addison, the more I found myself not having to pretend so much. She was incredibly easy to be around. Yeah, we argued—a lot—but I didn’t feel that she despised me anymore. Initially, I hadn’t cared if she liked me or not, but now…now I felt determined to make her see me in a different light.

  Addison was becoming more to me. I loved her humor, her charm, and her warmth. People loved her, and I was beginning to wonder if I hadn’t also fallen under her spell a little. Get a grip, Callahan.

  Ty snapped me from my thoughts by waving a beer in front of my face. “Want one?”

  “Hell yes,” I replied before taking the longneck from him. After popping the top, I took two long pulls before setting the beer down then ground my fists into my eyes to clear my blurring vision. I’d spent the last few hours on the bus trying to get some work done, and I needed a break.

  When Addison emerged from the bathroom, I did a double take at her appearance. It wasn’t the fact that she’d shed her dress for a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt; it was that she looked sick as a dog. She hadn’t complained, but she’d been nursing a cold for the last week. Tonight, her eyes had dark bags underneath them, which contrasted sharply with her ghost-white face. I hadn’t gotten a good look at her since she’d collapsed on the couch, bundled herself in several blankets, and buried her head in her laptop. I couldn’t believe how quickly her condition had worsened.